


Glitches in Physics

by RegalMisfortune



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Also Overwatch May Or May Not Have Happened?, An AU Where The First Crisis Happened But The Second Doesn't, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I Am Figuring It Out As I Go, I Will Add Tags When I am Not Ready To Fall Asleep On This Couch, I Will Go Back and Edit Too So If There's Any Mistakes Please Let Me Know I'm Very Tired, Multi, Omnic Discrimination, Other, Slow Burn, The Weird Mashup of Apartment/University/Gym AU No One Asked For, Tumblr request, Zarya-Centric, because there's never enough, probably, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:57:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12504796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/pseuds/RegalMisfortune
Summary: Zarya, once an aspiring weightlifting champion, now a shelved disappointment of an injured athlete, decides to continue trudging through the mess of a failure her life seems to undoubtedly turn into and leaves Russia for an education at a military base-turned-university in Gibraltar.There, she learns to pick herself back up, and perhaps a few other things along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Tumblr Request: Slow Burn / Fake Date / Enemies to Lovers: The searching trio, Zarya Lynx and Sombra.
> 
> I know this probably meant "pick one", but I am bad at making decisions. This is for you, anonymous. 
> 
> If you have any questions or requests, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)

Living in Gibraltar was far different than living in Russia.

The apartment was small, with only a bedroom, a bathroom, and attached kitchen and living room, but the window faced out towards the park on the other side of the complex and the sunlight filtered in through the glass, dispelling the greyness that she was used to seeing in the little house she used to rent back in St. Petersburg despite how it was winter here as it was there.

Zarya took a sip from the warm mug in her hand, both fascinated and horrified at the sweetness that came with packaged hot chocolate. She had found a box in the American section during her trip to the grocery store down the block, and was too curious to refuse a little splurge. Americans certainly favored their sweet-tooth, and she could already feel it sticking hers. Still, she had bought it, and therefore had to finish drinking it, lest she waste the money she spent on it.

Zarya set the mug down to free her hand, raising it to rub at her shoulder with a deep sigh as numbness tingled in her fingers. Deep in her heart, she wished she wasn’t here, but back home in Russia. But life carried on regardless of anyone’s wants and desires and dreams, and hers were snuffed out the instant someone decided that a sidewalk was excellent for avoiding traffic lines at the last second. Faulty safety features, or so she had been told, but she knew even in her vague memories of the incident that the vehicle still had _tires_ that touched the road. No car that old had any safety features beyond a seatbelt.

She had been on her way to become a champion weight-lifter, but she knew that she could never achieve that goal any longer. At least, not without extreme risk. The doctors did all they can, but with cracked ribs, three breaks in the shoulder area and a severe concussion being the worst of her injuries- not including the muscle bruising and embedded shrapnel- she had officially been dropped faster than a hot potato. She could do some stretches and light weights now, perhaps progressing to heavier activities later on, but some days were worse than others in the numbness in her fingertips and the throb of pain that spider webbed down her spine that sometimes grew so bad she had do all she could from crying.

Zarya knew she had to leave after she recovered enough to travel. She couldn’t handle the pity of her neighbors, the disappointment of the news and of fans as if she personally decided to step out in front of a vehicle just to be an inconvenience for them. Most importantly, she couldn’t handle herself, living alone in an old house with peeling paint and wallowing in hopeless dreams long gone by.

And so instead of pitying herself, Zarya did what she has always done- continued to trudge forward regardless. She decided to go back to school, following the footsteps of her grandfather in the sciences. She had taken classes before- done very well in fact- and she liked putting her hands to use tinkering and fixing things for some extra cash. But she had no real degree, and even a smaller amount of her courses she had under her belt were transferrable outside of Russia proper.

She had never considered Gibraltar- a tiny British-owned plot of land on the southern shores of Spain- nor had it been her first choice after she did find out it existed, but it was the only one that were willing to work with her and take the most amount of credits after being the first to reach out to her. They even gave her a scholarship, which she both wanted to politely decline and accept at the same time. She wasn’t exactly pressed for money, but Zarya disliked flaunting the wealth her family had left to her. The school itself was very accommodating to international students, and thus offered her a whole year free of any costs- including the required texts.

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse, even though she did decline the offer of rooming in the dorms. She was already in her later twenties- it would be awkward to be stuck with a roommate almost ten years her junior. The man she had been talking on the phone with agreed after that, and so pointed her to a respected apartment complex that contained several of the off-campus students who were deemed old enough to live off campus without causing too much trouble. Or, as much trouble as college students could make without being kicked out.

Zarya had traveled from Russia to Spain, and then from Spain to Gibraltar with her meager belongings during the start of the winter holidays while most of the other students and teachers alike were away, gone back home for the surprising month-long vacation between the semesters. There was no snow to speak of outside her window, the air surprisingly mild compared to the bitter chill of Siberia, although the sea thickened the air with salty humidity. She had made an arrangement with the property management of the complex she was currently residing in before she ever left home, and secured her new dwellings before she ever set foot onto foreign soil. They had even been kind enough to furnish it for her with basic pieces that she provided money for. The furniture may be second-hand, but they were very strong, and she was both amazed and thankful for the management for taking the time to do so and not pocketing the cash and leaving her without any place to sleep.

They had even put a cover over the couch- hiding the most hideous floral patterned cushions she had ever set eyes on. Zarya immediately fell in love with it and planned on forgetting to put on the cover after the first time she needed to washed it.

Her English wasn’t the greatest during that discussion of a lease, but it was far better than her nonexistent grasp of Spanish she would have needed to book a hotel room during the lapse. And there were several other non-native English speakers who attend the university, so it wasn’t like she was the first one to struggle through the technical wording. They _had_ offered someone to translate, but Zarya declined that too. She had looked up the local area for a little research on what to expect, and with their open views of omnics, she didn’t want to risk having anything to do with a _robot._

Zarya felt a scowl working her way onto her lips at the thought, turning away from the winter sunshine outside to pick up her mug and walk it over to the sink. She knew that coming here meant that she had tolerate things she didn’t like. Life was always a balancing act, a struggle to keep true feelings inside to fool everyone else. The tensions between humans and omnics had come to all-out war at one point, still fresh in her distant memories of her childhood whenever she closed her eyes. But once the fists stopped flying and the dust settled, everyone thought it best to try to improve relations as if nothing had happened.

Russia was never a country to forgive and forget. While other nations like Japan and several sections of Africa were more than willing to open their doors and forge good relations with the robotic entities that now crawled the earth alongside them, her homeland was still aching from the scars and wounds created by the harsh reality of war.

But Zarya was no longer in Russia. She was in a strange land, trying to find her footing once again. Here no one would tell her what she needed to do and what she should do, to wear her down physically and mentally for a chance in the spotlight. Everyone else thought they knew what was best for her, but did she herself know what was truly best for her?

This was a chance for her to find her place in the world again, and she would just have to live with the fact that there were omnics living so close to her now. Discrimination was not tolerated in the least at Gibraltar University, even if it happened off campus, and Zarya wasn’t going to ruin what little chances and choices she had left now because of some walking cans that could talk. She wouldn’t be seeing them much, she told herself. And if it became too much for her, well, she had a year to decide.

A quiet ping from the coffee table in the small living room drew the Russian from the kitchen to her handheld, the projection glowing softly before her as she tapped it. It was confirmation of her registration and course schedule, and she had a class at eight in the evening for Remedial English, as well as some laboratory work sectioned for on Friday afternoons. Guess she didn’t score high enough on the placement tests to get into a higher course in English. It made her let out a sharp breath through her nose.

The other exams were written in her dominate language so that they could place her justly through her skill and knowledge of the subjects and not because of her lack of understanding of English. So while she scored extremely high math and science, her English suffered. Her knowledge on literature was her only saving grace, but even then the English it was written in had confused her. She still had a relatively open morning, with most of her classes in the afternoon or evening. That left time to perhaps find a job and cover some of the costs rather than living off of her own savings and her inheritance.

Zarya was anything but a lazy moocher. Her grandfather would rise from the grave to lay down his disappointment in her if she ever became slothful, she told herself, even though she knew her grandfather would most definitely wish for her to be happy no matter what.

Well… she was trying, that was all she could say.

With a flick of her finger she dispelled the schedule in order to open up a search for job listings in the nearby area. She still had almost two weeks of holidays before the new semester began, and while winter may be a poor time to find a job, there had to be at least some sort of opening somewhere that she could fit in with her basic grasp of English and non-existent Spanish.

This was a start of a new chapter in her life, and Zarya was willing to do all she could to make it not turn into another failure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very tired.

It hadn’t taken Zarya long at all to find a job.

There were several openings at an athletics facility in between the apartment complex and the university- right on the way to campus, actually. It was relatively new, built by a multi-million dollar businessman from Numbani who had reached out to the school when it was in the building progress. It was the first of its kind on Gibraltar, successfully eliminating competition before it could begin. The students were given free access to the facilities, and much of their physical activity requirements and sport games were handled here. Memberships were rather cheap, and from what Zarya could gather, many from Spain and beyond came for the multitude of classes and training hosted by the facilities itself.

Her interview was surprisingly short. The much shorter British woman dressed in skin-tight racing pants that were as bright as her bubbly personality and the glow from underneath her pilot jacket explained that Akande Ogundimu was typically very hands-off with the facility proper, due to the fact that he had other business back in his homeland. However, he did stop by to check up on things, and happened to be around when Zarya applied for an opening.

He had decided to take the interview himself, rather than leave Lena, who usually handled the interviews since her personality was far more open and welcoming than some of the others according to her. She had given Zarya a wish of luck and a clap on the back before actually disappearing before her eyes in a blink of blue.

It was few and far between that Zarya met someone she felt would be on par with her during her heyday of athletic prowess before her injury, but Akande was a man no one could ignore. He carried himself with strength and power, an air of seriousness and assuredness that would make anyone heed his presence. But even as she was now, Zarya was strong, and she stared the taller man down and unmoving as a mountain.

It was a tense, quiet few seconds, but then the corner of his lip curled upward.

Zarya had gotten a job without speaking a single word.

“You are different, with your hair as such,” the man commented during the walk through the complex, his voice deep and rumbling in his throat. “If I had not recognized your name, I would have not suspected.”

“Change is good,” Zarya replied, running a hand through her pink locks. It had been both relieving and unnerving to have her long blond hair cut off to such a dramatic length, but it had been necessary. She wanted to be left alone from fans and her own countrymen, and her hair had been a key part of her person. Dyeing it a pretty pink was still eye-catching, but with the scar now marring her face, it was a change that few knew about.

Still, there were always people who would recognize her, and Akande was very astute. There was little doubt that he had done research on her, careful not to jar her injured side as he dropped a hand to her good shoulder and told her to take care of herself. There was no pity in his tone, perhaps a hint of understanding, but nothing more. Zarya was thankful for that.

The days flew by, and Zarya was settling into her new job. She was more of a miscellaneous worker until they hired more personnel for each individual section, but with so few visitors due to the holidays it was easy for her to flip from the front desk to cleaning the weight room to whatever other tasks given to her- usually by Lena. Akande was seen out of the corner of her eye, but he made no move to speak to her again, and Zarya left him to it.

Lena was a plethora of endless information, filling in the silence with banter and hand gestures. She seemed quite happy to have someone who would listen to her, even if Zarya struggled to keep up with the speed of her chattiness. From what she could gather, Lena had been a pilot during the Omnic Crisis, very young in fact. It didn’t explain the device that peeked out from under her coat, nor did it explain her practically teleporting from one end of the hallway to the other in a blink of blue. She was now the track and field coach for the university’s team, as well as cross-country and other running activities in the domain that was the indoor track field. And even without blinking from place to place, Lena was _fast_ , jumping over hurdles like they were nothing but blades of grass.

It was near the end of the first week that Zarya met another teacher at the facility. The woman was prim and prose, her sleek black hair tied back and carried herself with deadly grace. Naturally Lena commented on how the woman’s scarf cost more than the entirety of the university’s meals in a single day, and the woman scoffed, shooting back a reply in purring French.

Zarya gathered from Lena later after the runner had caught back up to the Russian after she left the two to bicker on their own that the woman was the ballerina tutor- Amélie or Amelia or Amy or something- Tracer spoke very fast when talking about the Frenchwoman and Zarya struggled to keep up. She was a stern woman, not someone to cross, but in the short days of knowing her, Zarya knew that Lena was a glutton for trouble, and naturally she would go and heckle the woman. Apparently someone named Emily also told her to not bother the other woman, but as Lena said, she couldn’t help it.

Zarya merely nodded along, hiding her confusion and making a mental note not to bother the Frenchwoman unless necessary.

Things began to pick up the closer to the start of term came. Some professors came in to make arrangements or to simply start back up on their workout routines. Lena took care of them, happy to greet familiar faces. Zarya hung back, awkward and lost in the increasing speed of English.

Students stopped in as well, both returning and newcomers. Zarya found herself having less and less time at the front desk as Lena took over, as if she suddenly realized that the Russian had very little grasp of English. Zarya was thankful nevertheless, happy with fixing one of the machines in the weight room that had broken down just the other day. It was an easy fix- a simple jam and nothing more- and Zarya had it back in working order by the end of the day.

The day before the start of the new term, however, Zarya found herself sitting at the front desk, her brows scrunched together as she slowly picked her way through the syllabi that were spread out before her in soft projections. Sundays were very slow, Lena told her before she whisked a potential employee off to be interviewed, and in truth no one had stepped through the front doors all morning. And since she had already cleaned the entryway and the front desk, Zarya spent the time looking over her courses and their classroom rules and directions. It was slow going, but she was sure she was getting a hang of some of the jargon.

She was halfway through wrangling the understanding of an entire paragraph when the doors opened, followed by a dark-skinned young man _rolling_ through the doors. Backwards. On skates.

“You should’ve seen it! Crowds cheering, having a great time! I would’ve given you backstage passes too!”

“Well _some_ of us live on the other side of the world,” a slight Korean girl replied, pink striped against her cheeks as she stuck her tongue out at the wild-haired man. “Whose family would materialize behind her and drag her back to Seoul kicking and screaming.”

“And some of us,” another girl, half her head shaved and the other turning from a dark brown at the roots to a brilliant purple at the ends spoke up, her words rolling in a teasing way that was like the native Spanish speakers. “Have jobs to do.” She said something else in Spanish, flying over Zarya’s head as the young man casually rolled to a stop in front of the desk.

It was then that he finally noticed Zarya watching them, blinking once, then twice as the realization sunk in.

“Where’s Tracer?”

Zarya stared at him, opening her mouth a little before closing it, confusion growing on her face as she tried to figure out who on earth he was referring to.

“Who?”

“You know, happy British lady? Goes real fast?” The young man was waving a hang around, as if gestures would make her understand better. “Can’t whistle to save her life?”

“Give it a rest, Lucio,” the Hispanic girl hopped over the counter, picking up Zarya’s handheld and swiping the projection clear. She did _something_ to it, her fingers moving faster than Zarya could keep up, and then-

“ _Hola_.”

Zarya watched the young woman’s mouth curl into a smile as what she could only describe as cursing in French sounded.

“I see you made it back in one piece.” Amélie’s curt voice replied back. “A pity. _Monsieur_ Ogundimu wishes to speak with you.”

“Yeah yeah,” the girl rolled her eyes, her fingers flipping over a projection before turning to her two companions. “The rink’s clear for two hours.”

“Sweet!” the other girl pumped her fist before grabbing the young man by the arm and pulled him along while he waved back at Zarya with a helpless shrug that suggested this happened far too often. “You got to show me how to wall ride!”

Zarya stared after them before glancing back at their third companion, only to find her absent from her desk. In fact, she was nowhere in sight at all, taking with her Zarya’s handheld.

“…Oh…” was all that she could say, sitting back against the chair with a creak as she tried to process what on _earth_ just happened. She was too confused to be upset over her missing item, whereas if she hadn’t been she would have most certainly gone up to forcibly take what was hers back. No one just _stole_ things from her, after all. But Zarya _was_ confused, and so she simply sat in a complete daze.

“You look a little lost there,” Lena’s voice popped up beside her, causing Zarya to nearly send her knee through the bottom of the desk. “Judging from the expression I saw on Amélie’s face when I passed by, Sombra is here.”

“And more,” Zarya murmured, causing Lena to hum then smile.

“That must’ve been Hana and Lúcio! They’re a good sort. I’m glad they came back for another semester. Sombra, well, she can be a handful. Don’t know why they like hanging out with her.”

Coming from Lena, that was high praise in the worst of ways.

“Don’t think that’s even her real name,” she carried on, Zarya grasping to catch back up to her words. “I asked once but all she did was booped my nose and smirked! She’s a cheeky one, and yet somehow Amélie tolerates her more than she does me! What gives?”

Zarya had no answer for her, letting Lena rant and rave about the Hispanic woman’s better relations with the French ballerina despite only occasionally dropping by for “who knows what” as Lena put it, while she angrily stirred her tea.

By the time the British woman shooed Zarya off the clock and back towards home, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the elusive Sombra or her missing handheld. It made her sigh through her nose, unlocking her apartment door with a quiet click and letting it shut behind her. Perhaps it would be around the next time she worked, waiting for her on the front desk, but Zarya didn’t have high hopes.

This Sombra didn’t seem like the person to give things back willingly, taking more than she gave. The moment she walked through the door Zarya had the creeping suspicion that she did what she wanted, as if she owned the place. Smug, overconfident, too smart for her own good. It made her rub her face in irritation as she tapped her computer awake, the projection flickering to life before her in the bedroom.

Well, she couldn’t worry about it now. She would simply wait and see, and if it never came back, she would just have to buy another one when she could. In the meantime, Zarya would just try to refresh her memory on some English grammar, perhaps go on a short run and do some light exercises to stretch her shoulder.

If Zarya never saw Sombra again, it would be far too soon.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter's a bit shorter than what I'd like, but it's also to get a feel of how people take this silly project. Updates may vary, so please be patient with me. Thank you for taking the time to read this small disaster! c:


End file.
